264981
by DKlimut
Summary: This tale follows a Dralnian assigned to cleaning duty aboard a Bathac slave ship. It offers some, "Closure" for the previous short story I submitted- "Slaves..." If you want to learn more about Dralnians, head over to my site


**#264981**

Year: 3403 AD

Location: Planetside on Azis IV, deep in Bathac controlled space

Azis IV is one of the first planets the Bathac race claimed upon arrival in the Koly Region. Its environment is extremely unforgiving with day and night planetary winds remaining a constant 25 knots. The overly arid surface, which is devoid of all plant-life, provides little to no shelter from the brutal conditions. While it is not well-suited for Human or Terrgant populations, Bathacs find the harsh conditions appealing. Azis IV is one of the largest mining operations in their Empire.

Most mining in the Koly Region is conducted by Dralnians. Bathacs, Humans and Terrgants purchase Dralnians from Otium sales kiosks on a regular basis. The convenience of making a relatively inexpensive purchase and having a worker promptly shipped to any destination is irresistible. Before the cloned workforce was subjected to forced labor, some advocates argued for the helpless Dralnians. Heated debates of whether or not a Dralnian had a soul, raged for weeks. Sadly, they ended with a vote of no one actually caring.

With the green-light for production, Otium scientists created the perfect obedient workhorse. The subservient gene encoded in the DNA during their genetic batching, comprised of a tiny stature less than a meter tall, and the ability to manipulate the length of their limbs made Dralnians ideal for any type of undesirable activity. To prevent a loss in profit, Otium researchers made Dralnians asexual and sterile.

The mistreatment of the genetically produced race started with the placement of Dralnians in mines with no protective equipment. Their hardy stature allowed them to function in deplorable environments longer than most races but at the unavoidable result of death. While Dralnian life spans are typically more than 300 years, they usually die from abuse long before that. Otium researchers knew this perfect combination of durability, subservience, and premature expiration would provide endless future purchases.

The Bathac race, represented by the Servus faction, demanded an even lower price on Dralnians. Citing mass quantity purchases, they argued bulk purchasing should reward lower prices. The Otium, represented by the Medius Pacis faction, blatantly ignored the repeated demands. The greed and power-driven Bathac Commanders were angered by this show of disrespect. With no recourse to influence the Otium, they derived a new plan to acquire cheap labor- enslavement of Humans.

The Bathac transport ship broke through the dense clouds upon entering the atmosphere. The Commander telepathically plotted an approach vector from the ship's control center. The vector aligned the ship with the landing zone designated for arrivals. The massive vessel took only seconds to traverse the 120 kilometer distance that separated it from the unloading area. It slowed to a stop and hovered several meters above the landing pad.

The Commander watched a Dralnian ground crew scurry about the sand-blasted landing pad in preparation of securing the vessel. A thought of terminating the thrusters and allowing the ship to fall on the Dralnians crossed his mind. The demented smile returned to his lips. He decided it would be best if the ship completed its landing sequence sans squished Dralnians. The deranged Bathac initiated the auto-land procedure and exited the control center.

The Commander started walking to the transport pod. The pod was only a short distance from the control center and the Commander arrived almost immediately. He was reveling in the Human female's execution performed hours ago. The memory of peeling her skin away brought a twisted sense of joy to him. Other than losing the female, he was generally pleased with the capture of so many Humans in one trip.

The sight and smell of Humans was revolting to him. Like most Commanders, he usually enjoyed killing dozens of them before enslaving any. This recently completed mission, however, was different. The intelligence received about a newly constructed space station was accurate; it was ripe for the picking. A separatist party of the Libertas Insurgo faction broke free from the primary alliance. Approximately 500 party members constructed a space station in a remote area. To add to his delight, it was completely defenseless. He laughed at their foolish belief they would be protected by an omnipotent being.

The Commander tore himself way from his thoughts of such an easy victory. He focused on the task at hand and telepathically instructed all Drones aboard to prepare the Humans for unloading. One by one, the Drones appeared. They stood ready to lead the Humans into their new life.

The only life the captured beings would know from now on would be that of grueling, enslaved manual labor.

The Commander, akin to all Bathacs, regarded Humans as nothing more than cargo. If some died in the process, so be it- they were easily replaceable. Even though every shipment of Humans was under his full telepathic control, and could easily be moved with a single thought, he always allowed the Drones to utilize any violent method possible to remove them from the ship. The corridor leading to where the Commander stood was now lined with 30 Drones, eagerly waiting to abuse the Humans.

The Commander enjoyed watching them receive abuse from his Drones. He rarely showed emotion, but this brought him great joy. With his Drones in place, the Commander opened the pod door. The Drones swarmed into the room like a pack of rabid animals. The powerless, shackled Humans stood motionless in the cramped room.

The horde of Drones collided with the mass of slaves. They relentlessly beat the subservient Humans for no reason, other than they could. Strike after strike sent Humans crashing into each other and down to the floor. The arsenal of shock-sticks and wicked pain-inducing tools ripped away chunks of skin. Several Humans were knocked into the floating corpse, which did not budge from any impact, leaving large bloodstains on their clothes.

The Commander was observing his symphony of pain from the corridor and cackled as the Humans passively endured the brutal treatment at his command. He thoroughly enjoyed watching the motionless, submissive, wretched excuses for life being flung about and beaten. He allowed the mistreatment to carry on for nearly 45 minutes before commanding the Drones to stop. The transport pod was soaked from floor to ceiling in blood and Human tissue.

He telepathically ordered the assaulted Humans to stand up, form a single-file line and exit the pod. Much like puppets, the Humans obeyed their marionette's commands and formed a line. The Commander wanted this filth off his ship. In order to facilitate a rapid departure he also utilized the Dralnians on board. Every Dralnian was ordered to assist the Drones in removal, processing and equipping the slaves for mining operations.

The Commander wanted to make several return trips to capture the remaining 400 Humans at the station. The pod would have to be cleaned quickly. He contemplated assigning a squadron of Drones to perform this lowly duty, but a new thought came to him. While they could have cleaned the pod satisfactorily, he enjoyed tormenting his purchased Dralnians as much as he took pleasure in abusing the Humans.

The Commander had the right Dralnian in mind for this messy clean-up. He sent a message to Dralnian #264981 instructing it to clean the pod immediately. He always took pleasure in adding insult to the already downtrodden race. He referred to any Dralnian by their serial number instead of giving it a name. This insult maintained the servant status they received across the Koly Region.

Just as the last Human was violently shuffled out of the pod, #264981 arrived with a cleaning cart in tow. The Commander was visibly displeased. He hissed, "If you value what you consider life, it would be wise to heed my beckoning quickly. Remove the Human waste from my room. Always remember what happened to the one before you and keep that thought at the forefront of your feeble mind. I expect this room to be spotless. If you fail me, you die."

The intimidated Dralnian shook with fear, but was able to give a nod of acknowledgement. The Commander turned and started walking away. #264981 exhaled a soft sigh of relief and peered inside. It immediately noticed the carcass floating in the middle of the room along with the bodily fluids that coated the surfaces. The only emotion it experienced from viewing the ghastly interior was the fear of disappointing its owner. Like all Dralnians it only felt fear, sadness and pain.

The temporary respite from the Commander's anger was short-lived. #264981 turned to see if he was gone, but the only thing visible was a rapidly approaching boot. The Dralnian absorbed the brunt of the Commander's well aimed kick with its head. The tiny worker was lifted off its feet and hurtled into the bloodied room. Its flight was brought to an abrupt stop by a collision with the floating corpse.

The Dralnian slid off the corpse and landed in a sticky pool of blood. #264981 shakily stood up and touched its head. A large mass of cranial tissue was swelling from the damage done to it. Even though its daily routine of abuse had just started, it was attempting to keep a slightly positive outlook on life. The outlook quickly changed to dread when it noticed a familiar object flying through the air.

#264981 instantly recognized the telepathically flung object as its own cleaning cart. The cart was on a direct collision course. The Dralnian wanted to get out of the way, but the realization of standing in a pool of liquid set in. It was attempting to step to the side, but the soaked floor provided less than desirable traction. The Dralnian's tiny feet were no match for the frictionless section it was standing on.

With a failed attempt to sustain equilibrium, #264981 slipped and fell face-first into the slowly coagulating puddle of fluids.

It raised its blood-soaked face and looked around quickly for anything to anchor itself to. There was nothing to the left or right but open floor. Out of nowhere #264981 had an epiphany: what goes down should come up. The Dralnian flopped over on its back, extended its arms and attached itself to the floating girl. It was able to pull itself free from the slippery surface.

Unfortunately for #264981, this effort was for naught. As soon as it was vertical and clinging to the corpse, the cleaning cart smacked into its back. Cleaning supplies, storage boxes and other items went flying. The impact sandwiched the Dralnian between the corpse and cart. The transfer of energy shot the Dralnian downwards back into the pool of blood.

The abused Dralnian heard the faint cackling of the Commander from down the hall.

#264981 attempted to stand again. It wanted to prevent something else the Commander decided to throw at it from sandwiching it a second time. This time the Dralnian did not anchor itself onto the corpse. It rolled to the side, slowly positioned its limbs and stood. It was free from the slippery puddle. As the Dralnian looked about the room, it was saddened by the unnecessary method employed by the Commander to reunite it with the cart.

#264981 knew the room must be cleaned quickly or its life would be over. It knew the Commander would make a replacement without hesitation, much like its predecessor. That Dralnian _was_ assigned to cleaning duties. It recalled the replacement of #264980 upon assignment to the Bathac slave vessel.

As a motivation to perform duties flawlessly, its predecessor was telekinetically compacted into a small transparent box. It was left in the box for days without food or water. The box had a message inscribed on a large sign next to it. #264981 still remembered the writing as if it was in front of its eyes now, "Poor job performance = death. The next Dralnian would be wise to not leave a speck of blood in the transport pod like #264981 thought was acceptable. Have a productive day."

The box and sign were put on display for all Dralnian's aboard the ship to view. The Commander let the suffering continue for a week. Before #264980 died of starvation, the Commander returned. A page was sent for all Dralnians to stop working and heed his call. Every Dralnian promptly arrived and stared in horror. The Commander again reminded them of proper job performance by setting the inside of the box ablaze.

The fire started small and slowly grew larger. The scent of roasting Dralnian filled the room. #264981 wanted to look away, but its subservience prevented it. It remembered vivid detail of the Dralnian feverishly clawing at the box top. Sadly, the escape attempt was futile; the box was telekinetically sealed by the Commander. The horrible squealing sounds, and smell, of its brethren being burned alive were permanently imprinted in its mind.

On a positive note, the Commander liked to inspire motivation among his Dralnian crew. To keep #264981 motivated to perform its job flawlessly, its first assignment was to put #264980's ashes in a clear vial and carry them at all times.

#264981 was shaking with fear. It placed a hand in a cargo pocked of its ragged clothes and rubbed the vial nervously. After it somewhat calmed down the Dralnian quickly realized it was standing in the room, not working. It assembled the scattered cleaning items and started working on the room. Blood was everywhere. The Dralnian was working rigorously to clean the room to spotless perfection. Anything less would result in a slow, painful, and fiery death.

The Commander's inspirational method paid off. The Dralnian finished cleaning the room in less than 10 minutes. Only one obstacle remained- the floating corpse. #264981 was at a loss of how to take the corpse down, but it had to come down. It tried for several minutes to pull, push, and hit the floating body. These attempts were at no avail. The worker was thinking that some sort of sharp tool would be useful, but it was not trusted with any type of hand-held object or weapon.

#264981 glanced furtively around the room. It crouched and sprang upwards. The Dralnian tossed itself and landed on the shoulders of the deceased. It was accomplished at the removal of previously expired Humans, but it had never encountered a suspended corpse in the middle of the pod room. The first area that needed to be addressed was the impaled head.

The Dralnian acquired a firm grip and pulled on the two limbs that were impaled through the face. A grotesque sucking noise echoed in the room. With a concerted effort they popped free of the eye sockets. Strands of brain tissue dangled from the exposed humorous bones. The Dralnian tossed the limbs into the cart and prepared itself to tackle the rest of the cadaver.

This was slightly more difficult. #264981 jumped up and down on the body in an attempt to put it on the ground. The only thing resulting from this poorly thought out maneuver was a squishing sound from its feet landing on the exposed muscle tissue of the shoulders and the expulsion of blood. Blood ran down the body, accumulating on the heels of both feet and steadily dripped onto the floor. A new mess was quickly replacing the one the Dralnian worked so hard to clean up.

The Dralnian made the connection that the severed arms were free of the telekinetic prison that currently held up the rest of the body. A morbid and untested plan formed in its mind. It had a _brilliant_ idea. It was unsure of how to stop the body from floating, but was desperate to try anything.

Try anything, it did.

#264981 jammed its hands into the open arm sockets on the girl's carcass. A similar sucking sound echoed in the room as the Dralnian pushed its hands inside the torso. It forced its fingers through the membranous covering on the ribcage and secured a solid grip on the bones. From the girl's back, it wrapped its legs around the abdomen.

This position allowed the Dralnian to move its head to the left side of the girl's neck. The head was tilted slightly backwards from the impalement, making the eyeless girl look to the ceiling. The Dralnian could feel the smooth and coarse exposed muscle tissue pressed against its own skin. Taking one more glance around the room, #264981 opened its mouth as wide as possible. It cocked its head back, closed its eyes and bit down forcefully on the neck. It chewed slowly and methodically through the muscle.

The gaping wound allowed the head to tip even further backwards. Taking several minutes to chew, spit, and chew again the Dralnian's teeth eventually connected with the spine. Semi-coagulated blood was oozing from the gnawed area. #264981 kept a steady pace and crunched through the bony vertebrae. In less than five minutes, only a single strand of muscle tissue connected the head to the body. The area where the girl's neck used to be attached to the torso was now a grisly hole, much like the cavity created in the girl's chest.

Dralnians rarely ate food, let alone meat. #264981 took one last chomp, severing the strand that was connected to the head. The brilliant idea was a success, by Dralnian standards. The orally decapitated head fell to the floor. The distance it fell was not much higher than the average height of a Human. The small transfer of energy from the fall caused the head to bounce and roll to a stop about one meter away. It left a trail of blood, gray matter and some type of fluid the Dralnian could not recognize.

#264981 climbed atop the headless body, inverted itself and placed feet in the arm sockets instead of hands. It was now clinging to the front of the girl's torso. It lowered itself down past the open chest wound and secured its bloodied hands on the hips of the girl. The Dralnian opened its mouth once more and sank its teeth into the girl's lower left abdomen. #264981's mouth was not large enough to separate the upper torso from the lower torso in one pass. It would have to make two passes; first chew away the abdomen and then the lower back.

As it chewed through the abdomen, small and large intestines spilled out. The Dralnian pushed them aside to continue eating away the abdominal wall. The girl's carcass was being orally eviscerated. The Dralnian stopped chewing momentarily from noticing the large mess that had accumulated. It knew the mess would have to be cleaned quickly because the Commander could return at any moment.

#264981 pushed its bloodied, slimed head back into the lower right abdominal cavity and resumed chewing. It repositioned its grip in order to start chewing through the lower back. Just as it reached the right kidney, the Dralnian heard an all too familiar sound. The Commander entered the room. The Dralnian stopped chewing, pulled its head free from the cavity and looked up at its master. Blood and bile was dripping from its face. The Commander cackled hysterically.

"Enjoying a free meal?" inquired the Commander.

#264981 shook its head to deny any enjoyment from what it felt must be done. This had no impact on the Commander as he did not care what any Dralnian thought. The Commander continued, "I am somewhat pleased with the condition my room is in and I assume the new mess you created will be cleaned as promptly. If only #264980 showed even half the enthusiasm… In any event, I believe I will _help _you with your current project."

#264981 was shocked by the offer of help from its master. It removed its legs from the arm sockets and righted itself upwards. It released the grip around the torso and dropped to the floor. The Dralnian wiped the blood and bile from its face and walked over to the cleaning cart. It retrieved a large refuse bag to secure the remains once the Commander lowered the floating carcass.

#264981 was not ready for what happened next.

Flashbacks of #264980's execution flooded its vision. The girl's body was instantly engulfed in flames. The Dralnian could barely stand the tremendous heat given off by the flames. It covered its eyes with a bloodied hand to shield them from the intensity of the heat. Muscle tissue and organs started sizzling and popping. The intestines turned to a goo-like substance and dripped off the body.

The fire lasted only seconds. Once the flames disappeared, the burnt body still floated in the air. #264981 was confused. It did not understand how setting the body on fire would help with clean up. The mental inquiry was quickly answered when the Commander pointed its sleeved arm at the semi-charred cadaver.

It exploded.

A mist of Human remains recoated the room. #264981 now knew why it seemed odd the Commander offered to _help _him. Shrugging its shoulders, the Dralnian quickly went back to work to clean the new mess. The Commander cackled as he spoke, "If you are still hungry, perhaps you should clean the room with your tongue? You should be thankful I prepared a warm meal for you this time."

#264981 did not respond. It simply cleaned the room.


End file.
